


When he thinks you can't see him

by tinyniel



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyniel/pseuds/tinyniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wasn't happy with how 4x06 ended, so I fixed it :P Kent tries to make things better, and gets a lot more than he bargined for. Rating is purely because I used the f-word a couple of times. It's actually pretty fluffy stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When he thinks you can't see him

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sherlock. It'll be familiar to those who know it.
> 
> Un-bet'd, for which I apologise.

_It just happens._

_It’s not a choice you make. It’s not something you mind gives you time to mull over, to decide on. It’s not something that comes with time, that you gradually come to terms with._

_No. It just happens._

_It’s that first look. The first greeting. The first handshake. That’s what does it. It’s completely irrational, completely without logic and it makes no sense._

_And yet it just happens._

 

*

 

The light above Kent’s head flickered for the hundredth time that day, and at least the thousandth time that week. He had stopped noticing it at this point. It was scheduled to be fixed over the weekend, and right now they all had bigger problems.

Though honestly, ‘problem’ was the wrong word. You could fix a problem. This was a heck of a lot bigger than a problem.

The incident room was near empty. What had been the beginnings of a celebration only a few hours ago, had died on the spot when the call came in. The others had filtered out one by one, leaving only him, the skip and DI Chandler. Kent was at his desk pretending to fill out reports – nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, but his feet refused to let him get up and go home. The skip was nursing a drink, which from the look of it was still mostly untouched, eyeing their boss through the glass windows of his office. Kent recognised the look on his face; he was debating between dragging Chandler out of there, or waiting him out.

But judging by the look on their boss’ face, neither would be a good option in the end. Ever since the call had come in, he had sat perfectly still behind his desk. Any attempt to talk to him had been shot down, and in the end they had all left him alone. Mansell had dragged Riley to the pub as planned, arguing that even if they didn’t have cause for celebration anymore, they definitely still had a reason to drink. Ed had declined their offer to join in, producing some story about something he had promised his mother he would attend with her. Kent was sure that was a lie, his entire night had been open before the call came in.

Kent tried to make himself as small as possible behind his computer. He just had to wait out the skip, and then he could set his plan into action. He considered checking the papers to kill time, but somehow he didn’t want to leave the bubble of the incident room. They were bound to be onto it by now, Chandler’s record with bringing in suspects alive (or at all) was all too well known. And this one was bound to set the media off in a big way. Eight suspects, all of them dead. Kent didn’t even have to imagine the headlines.

He jumped as the Skip pushed his chair back. Kent watched him drain his drink, aim for the waste bin with his cup and miss. Rather than pick it up, he just gave it a dirty look and picked his coat off the chair instead. He turned to Kent as he was pulling it on.

“Home time, son.”

Kent busied himself with the papers he hadn’t touched in half an hour. “Just want to finish this-”

The skip waved him off, and he cut his improv excuse short. Miles half nodded towards the office as he straightened his coat. “Keep an eye on ‘im, will you?”

“Of course, skip.”

Miles snorted, but there was no venom in it. “You always do, don’t you son?”

Kent had no answer for that, except the flush he could feel creeping up his cheeks. For once the bad lighting worked to his advantage. The skip didn’t seem to want an answer though. He tried to catch Chandler’s attention to signal his goodbye, but the man on the other side of the glass door was unresponsive. Miles just shook his head, muttered a gruff ‘night’ to Kent, and trudged out the door.

Kent gave it a few minutes, tidying up his desk and throwing glances in Chandler’s direction. Once he was convinced the skip hadn’t changed his mind, he got up from his desk and approached Chandler’s office. He knocked softly on the glass pane, but the man inside showed no sign that he had heard him. Kent gave it a few more seconds before pushing the door open, cursing silently when it creaked. Chandler’s head shot up in surprise, and when his eyes met Kent’s, the DC saw how bad it was.

“Kent?” He couldn’t tell if Chandler was surprised he was still there, or if there was an actual question there.

“Sir-”

“The shift is over, Kent. Go home.”

Chandler must have tried for commanding, the tone he adopted when he was trying to mask the chaos and frustration in his mind. Unfortunately for him, Kent knew every tone and level of that man’s voice, and he wasn’t fooling him.

“Sir, are you all right?”

Chandler looked for a second like he was contemplating giving him an honest answer, but it died a moment later.

“Go home, Kent. That’s an order.”

He picked up the small jar of Tiger Balm, unscrewing the lid slowly, more out of habit than with intent. Kent waited, watching him go through the motion of applying the gel to his temples, and rubbing them. Chandler was midway through it when he realised Kent was still standing there.

“Kent-”

“I’m not going anywhere, sir.”

Chandler stopped mid-motion, brow furrowing slightly as he eyed Kent’s face. Before he could say anything else, Kent tumbled out the words he had been rehearsing in his head all night.

“I’m worried about you, sir.”

It came out with a lot less conviction than he had intended, and something in Chandler’s face told him he might have overstepped some hitherto unknown line. Kent tried to stand his ground as Chandler’s eyes narrowed for a second. But then his DI just shook his head, dropped his gaze, and returned to lining the little jar up with the rest of the items on his desk.

“It wasn’t your fault, sir.”

Kent knew he was pushing it now. But he had watched his boss unravel over things like this too many times, and every time he had bit his tongue because why on earth would the man listen to him. This time, enough was enough.

He had no idea what he was getting himself into. Reeling Chandler back in when things got too bad was usually the skip’s area of expertise. But this time around even his skills seemed to fall short, and Kent simply couldn’t stand by and watch it happen.

It was a long moment before Chandler spoke, and he started with a sigh that reminded Kent of the way his dad used to sound whenever Kent or his sister were being particularly obstinate.

“I’ll be fine, Kent.”

“No, you won’t.”

It slipped out before Kent could stop himself, and Chandler looked up at him, bemused. “Pardon?”

It was Kent’s turn to sigh, and he took the opportunity to draw an extra deep breath before plunging into the speech he always had prepared for nights like this, but never found the courage to voice.

“You’re not fine, sir. And you’re not likely to be any time soon. Every time it hits you harder, and every time you try to hide it from us, you try to conceal it until it blows over. But you’re not fooling me, sir. And it’s no good, keeping it all in like this.”

He was out of breath by the last word, and mostly out of resolve too. He had said it all without so much as a glance at Chandler’s face, and he kept his gaze on his shoes as he awaited the inevitable telling off.

Instead, he got a sound midway between a sigh and a sob. He looked up just in time to see Chandler slump over his desk, head in his hands, screwing his eyes shut.

“Sir?”

Kent suddenly regretted every decision he had made in the past thirty minutes. Chandler was breathing hard, trying to regain control, fingers digging into his hair and scalp. But he was failing spectacularly as his breath became shallow, turning into hiccuped sobs.

Kent made a split-second decision. He moved around to Chandler’s side of the desk, kneeling next to him and wrapping his fingers softly around his wrists. Chandler’s heaving breath stopped short, and his head shot up to look at Kent, blue eyes watery and reddening. Kent caught his gaze, holding it as he slowly pried Chandler’s hands from his face, pulling them down until they rested in his lap. He kept his grip on the man’s wrists, soft but insistent, moving his fingers so he could rub circles on Chandler’s pulse point with his thumb.

Chandler let out the breath he had been holding, eyes still fixed on Kent’s, and the emptiness Kent had seen in them earlier morphed into something more like fatigue. He kept rubbing slow circles, eyes still locked with Chandler’s, registering the faint thump of the DI’s pulse slowly calming under his touch. His breath was evening out too, and Kent caught himself matching his own breaths to Chandler’s, helping the man wind down.

It felt like time had frozen. Kent had no idea how long he had been on his knees, and he paid no attention to the creeping feeling of discomfort that came with kneeling on a cold, hard floor. Even the little voice in the back of his mind that always had indecent proposals at the most inopportune of moments, kept quiet. He could focus all his energy on keeping Chandler’s attention, keeping the man calm.

Chandler finally let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes and breaking eye contact. When he opened them a moment later, he looked marginally better. He even cracked a small smile, just a quirk of his mouth. “Thank you, Kent.”

The words shook Kent back to reality. He dropped Chandler’s hands with a mumbled apology, dropping his gaze as he felt the all too familiar burn creeping up his cheeks.

“Sorry sir, that was-”

“That was apparently exactly what I needed,” Chandler interrupted softly.

Kent wanted to look up, he really did, but with Chandler breathing normally again and the spell broken, he was suddenly way too aware of how close he was to him. He could feel the other man’s warmth, his breath on his hair as he spoke, the faint smell of soap and aftershave. And worst of all, he could feel Chandler’s eyes on him, expectant and soft. Kent would have gotten up and backed away, if he thought he could trust his legs. Instead, he stayed frozen, waiting for the inevitable awkward moment when his boss would point out that he could get up.

“Kent, look at me.”

He hesitated, trying to compose himself. He knew his face was an open book right now, emotions not yet tucked back where they belonged, and that sort of revelation had not been part of his plan at all. His mind raced with all the scenarios he had bit back while Chandler had been having his panic attack, and Kent desperately tried to subdue them one by one. A task not made easier by the close proximity of the man who was (unknowingly) responsible for every single one of them.

“Emerson.”

His head shot up at the mention of his first name, hardly ever used by anyone except Mansell when he had run out of better material. Chandler was smiling softly, and it took every bit of self-control Kent had not to let the shudder he felt run visibly through him.

“Sorry sir,” he finally managed. “That was inappropriate.”

“Kent-”

“I shouldn’t have interfered sir, I just-” He was babbling now, mouth working too fast for his brain, and yet unable to stop spewing excuses.

“... not my place, sir, I’m sorry for-”

His words spluttered to a halt when he felt Chandler’s hands on his cheeks, warm and firm. Kent looked back up into his boss’ eyes and suddenly he couldn’t seem to remember how to form a single word. Though he was unsure if that meant the situation had improved or not.

“Thank you, Kent,” Chandler repeated, the smile gone but his face still kind.

Kent replied with something that landed midway between ‘you’re welcome’ and ‘don’t mention it’, and Chandler chuckled softly. The sound made something in Kent’s chest evaporate, something hard and heavy that had been pressing on him ever since that wretched call and Chandler’s consequent slip into oblivion. He managed a smile in return, the blush threatening to take up permanent residence on his neck and cheeks.

He suddenly became acutely aware of his situation again; the warmth and smell of his boss washing over him, Chandler’s eyes so close, clear and blue and smiling at him. His hands cradling Kent’s face, thumbs rubbing absentmindedly along Kent’s jaw. He could smell Chandler’s breath on his face, close enough to feel it ghost over his skin.

Once again, Kent’s mouth made a move before his mind could catch up. He pushed forward the short distance, closing the gap between their faces and pressing a soft kiss to Chandler’s smiling mouth.

Chandler’s lips were warm and soft, and Kent couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of finally getting to taste them. That was, until he became aware that Chandler’s lips were also completely still. Kent pulled back instantly, horrified, scrambling away from Chandler and somehow getting to his feet.

“Kent-”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he mumbled, backing towards the door, eyes glued to the floor again. He nearly tripped when he found it unexpectedly open (which should not have been a surprise since he was the one who left it open). He caught himself on the doorframe, offering up more useless excuses as he backed away, forgetting his jacket in his hurry to leave.

He did not slow down until he was three streets away from the station, and suddenly aware that his bike was still in the parking lot, keys tucked safely in the pocket of the jacket that still hung over his chair. But going back was out of the question.

He slumped down on the first bench he could find, burying his face in his hands, trying to block out the shame with darkness. Everything had been going so well. Of course he had to go and fuck it up. There was no excuse, and no explanation for his behaviour, and he cursed himself for letting the situation go so far that he lost control of his emotions.

Four years of working next to Chandler, four years of hiding and suppressing every feeling. Four years of stolen glances and of doing everything he could do earn the man’s respect and trust. Four years, and it had finally paid off tonight.

And then he had gone and ruined it all in four seconds.

Kent peered out through his fingers to see the bus he was waiting for approach. Part of him wanted to stay on that bench until they had to pry him off it, but there was another part of him that suggested hiding under his covers until judgement day was a much more comfortable option, and in the end that part won out.

He climbed onto the bus, dropping himself into an empty seat, the same thought going in constant circles in his mind.

_I am well and truly fucked_.

 

*

 

Kent woke the next morning with two thoughts clear in his mind; it was way too early for birds to be chirping, and there was no way he was going in to work.

He flopped over on his back, reaching for his mobile. The display informed him that it was 6.30, which meant he had gotten approximately 45 minutes of sleep. While his bed _had_ proved to be a much more comfortable alternative than spending the night on a city bench, it had done nothing to stop his mind racing. It had alternated between embarrassment at his lack of self-control, anger at how he could be so infuriatingly stupid and insistent thoughts of how incredibly good it had felt to actually kiss Chandler … at least until his brain had computed what he was doing.

He had tried music, TV, tea, more tea and a shower, but in the end he had settled on staring at the ceiling muttering ‘fuck fuck fuck fuck’ until his flatmate had banged on the wall and told him to shut up. After that, he hadd turn over to mutter it quietly into his pillow.

Kent stretched and yawned, unlocking the screen to send off a message to Miles (usually he called in sick to Chandler, but today that was out of the question), before depositing the phone back on the night stand. He contemplated getting up, but he could hear the others moving around downstairs, and he was in no mood to talk to anyone. They would take one look at him and _know_ something was up. And after three years, they would know it wasn’t just work.

They knew about Chandler too. Everyone seemed to. Kent half suspected he had “I heart my boss” scrawled on his forehead in invisible ink everyone but he could see, because somehow people just … knew. His colleagues knew. His flatmates knew. His sister knew. His mum pretended she didn’t know, but she betrayed herself every time she asked one too many questions about how work was going.

Everyone knew. It was a fact Kent had learned to live with. Because, thank God, Chandler did not seem to have the slightest idea, and that was what kept Kent going.

… well, he hadn’t until last night, at any rate.

Kent rolled over and groaned loudly into his pillow. He would have to quit. Transfer. Sooner rather than later. Just hand in his papers and disappear, preferably to the other side of town. Or the other side of the country. Possibly the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

But he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. None of them would let him go just like that. The skip would sit him down and insist on a reason. Mansell would make jokes that were too close to home about ‘finally made a move on the boss and he shot you down, eh?’. And Riley would put on her mum voice, the one she couldn’t seem to leave at home but always seemed annoyed when they dared to rely on, and ask him in earnest what was wrong. Coupled with those concerned eyes she had a knack for, he wouldn’t be able to lie to save his life.

And Chandler. Chandler would know why, but he would be torn between doing the obvious thing and insisting that Kent stay, and doing what Kent knew he must want to and let him leave. Kent could almost picture him, behind his desk, slender fingers constantly finding something to correct as he tried to unconvincingly convince Kent to stay, all the while refusing to look at him. The thought made Kent curse out loud, and for a moment he worried the others had heard him. But their morning chaos seemed to drown him out.

No, he couldn’t transfer just like that. He needed a reason. A proper one. Something undebatable, something that made sense to them all. And that meant he needed to think about it. Which also meant that in the end, he would have to go back in and face Chandler.

His phone chimed, the message from Miles short and affirmative, and he gave silent thanks that he wouldn’t have to face his boss today. As long as nothing was called in, he wouldn’t have to face him until Monday. And surely something would present itself to him by then.

Kent groaned again, pulling his pillow over his head and muttering a half-hearted prayer that maybe he would suffocate in his sleep.

 

*

 

It was three in the afternoon when he realised his bike was still at the station. He considered getting through the weekend without it, but he knew he wouldn’t manage that. He considered calling to check if someone could drop it off for him, before he remembered that the shift was over and that the only person he was likely to get was Chandler. That was when he considered calling the bike a lost cause, and going out to buy a new one instead.

In the end, he settled on waiting until evening, and then sneaking back to get it. He had asked the skip to keep him posted if anything came up, promising he was ready to come back in tomorrow if they needed him, but he hadn’t heard anything so he assumed there was no new case. Which meant that it was unlikely that Chandler would be working late, and if he just made sure it was late enough, he should find the office empty.

He pottered around the house, retreating to his room when he could hear his the others coming home. When Emily stuck her head in to check on him, he feigned sleep until she gave up, probably concluding that he was either sick or hung-over. Either way, it was enough to make them leave him alone.

It was nearing on nine when he couldn’t bear to wait any longer. He slipped out, fibbing about needing a file from work, and was out the door before anyone could pry. The bus ride seemed way too short, and before he knew it he was letting himself into the (thankfully) seemingly empty building. It was quiet, lights dim, and he hurried through to the incident room.

His coat hung neatly on the back of his chair, just the way he had left it in his haste to get out of there the previous night. Kent bit back the memories of why, snatching his jacket and turning around to make his escape.

He had just started on the steps when the door of the men’s room swung open, and Chandler emerged.

Kent froze mid-step, every swear word known to man going off in his head. Chandler stopped too, equally surprised.

“Kent?”

God, Kent couldn’t look at him. He fixed his gaze somewhere ahead of him, brain working furiously to come up with a combination of words that would make some kind of sense.

“Keys,” he finally settled on, failing spectacularly.

“Sorry?” Chandler’s voice sounded every bit as confused as it should be.

“My bike. Needed the keys.” Kent waved his jacket slightly by way of explanation. “Night sir.”

He managed to finish the step he had stopped midway through before he felt Chandler’s hand on his arm. The touch felt warm and cold all at once, and Kent froze again, not daring to even look in the general direction of his boss.

“Kent, we need to talk.”

Kent couldn’t argue with that, but from the way his brain seemed to have shut down at the moment, this definitely wasn’t the time. The things he wanted, _needed_ to stay to his DI were all still a big blur, and if he tried to explain himself now he stood a very great chance of making everything ten times worse. If that was even possible.

“Gotta go, sir,” he managed, pulling free from Chandler’s touch, and making for the stairs. For a second he thought he was going to get away with it, but then he heard Chandler’s footsteps following him.

His boss caught up with him on the landing, gripping his shoulder with a little more force.

“Kent, wait-”

Kent spun around, words spilling out before he could stop himself.

“I’m sorry I kissed you, sir. It was a mistake, obviously, and if I could take it back I would, but I can’t and I’ll be putting in for a transfer as soon as I can think of a plausible reason and until then you’re free to stick me in whatever service you want, I’ll help Ed sort the archive if that’s what you-”

He had run out of breath, and Chandler used the pause in his monologue to shift his touch to Kent’s face. Kent looked up at him, his trail of thought dying completely when he saw the smile on his boss’ face. Chandler’s fingers suddenly felt impossibly warm against his cheek, and Kent caught himself leaning into the touch. His DI’s smile widened ever so slightly, his thumb moving to stroke down Kent’s jaw, tilting his head up just a little.

Kent’s head was swimming, he was pretty sure the room was spinning and he spared a thought for what might happened if someone found them like this. It evaporated just as quickly, because Chandler’s bright blue eyes were so close, and it took all of Kent’s resolve to stop his knees from buckling.

Chandler chuckled to himself, and Kent wanted to ask why except forming words was proving something of a challenge. Instead, he kept all his attention on Chandler’s touch, on his smile and the sound of his voice. He tried to catalogue every second of this moment, because it was so surreal that Kent expected it to end any second.

Instead, Chandler leaned in with his entire body, taking a step closer until there was only an inch of space between them. Kent swallowed, trying to keep his breath even, and failing utterly.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Chandler murmured, and Christ almighty where did that tone of confidence come from?

“It wasn’t?” Kent managed to croak out, earning him another soft chuckle from his boss.

“No. It was long overdue.”

Chandler didn’t give him time to contemplate that, as he closed the last gap of space between them to press his lips softly to Kent’s.

Something inside Kent’s mind exploded. All the troubles he’d had processing the situation vanished the second Chandler pressed his lips to Kent’s. He grasped for his boss’ arm for purchase, pulling him closer, returning the kiss as best he could manage. Chandler’s lips were tentative and careful, and Kent tried to encourage him as best he could, fighting to hold back the desire to push Chandler against the wall and just kiss him silly. It felt like any sudden move could break the spell between them, and sappy as Kent knew it sounded he never wanted this particular moment to end.

It did, of course, when they finally broke apart for air. Chandler’s hand had somehow found its way into Kent’s hair, and he used it to keep their faces close, foreheads touching. Kent wanted to say something, but whenever he opened his mouth his mind went blank. One look at Chandler told him he was having the same problem. But it also told him that the confidence his boss had displayed a minute ago was waning, and rapidly being replaced by doubt. Kent was all too familiar with the look that was forming in Chandler’s eyes, and before it could get too far he leaned in to kiss him again, harder and with more intent this time. His heart fluttered when he felt Chandler smile into the kiss, fingers tangling in Kent’s hair as he tried to pull him even closer.

They lost track of time like this, fingers tangled in hair and shirts, exchanging breaths and sighs. It was only when a clock chimed somewhere in the building that they broke apart, startled. Despite their mutual eagerness, Chandler’s determination seemed to have run out, and all he could offer Kent was a soft, questioning smile. Kent returned it, reaching up to smooth Chandler’s hair back into place.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Kent?”

“The offer from last night still stands. The pub?”

Chandler’s confidence returned to his smile.

“I’d love to.”

 


End file.
